


Truce

by JoAsakura



Series: Dust and Dreaming [5]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two bitter enemies call a truce to save the one person they hold most dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truce

**Author's Note:**

> Written mainly to get it out of my head so I can do other things :) All characters (c) BioWare. No infringement intended. ^_^

As Varric liked to tell the tale, there was one thing that Hawke had learned- quite early on in his life-that had served him well for his seven years in Kirkwall - most particularly on the night it burned.

It was not how to kill people in the most efficient way possible, although that had been very useful. It was not even that he could strip a corpse of all its valuables in under five minutes (growing up poor and hunted in Fereldan had meant several distasteful career choices)

No. According to Varric, what served Hawke the best on the night they fled the warzone that the city-state of Kirkwall had become was "never let them see your weakness."

That indomitable resolve was what allowed the newly-named Champion of Kirkwall to walk proudly out of the Viscount's Keep, soaked in both the Arishok's blood and his own, while the elfroot potion barely kept his guts stitched together. He had waited until he'd gotten home before he'd collapsed and allowed the fretting Anders to heal him.

It was that same resolve that kept him upright as Aveline was making noises at him. They were hollow and distant, but he thought he heard her husband's name in the midst of them. (Oh) Hawke thought as he made what he thought were appropriate noises back (She needs to find Donnic before the templars swarm the city). There was no need for her to worry about him, he thought he said. She should find Donnic quickly.

But she was looking at him strangely.

They were all looking at him strangely.

That was when he noticed the red. It was darker than the flaming red of his hair and brighter than the somber red of his Champion armour, running hot down his chilled skin to spatter on the grey stones at his feet.

"Oh."

~~  
Always quicker than the others, Fenris caught him as he fell over. A thousand recriminations ran through the elf's mind as he lowered himself to the ground, the bigger man gently cradled in his arms.

One night, almost four years ago. Fenris had walked out on him, had promised to never think about the way Hawke's lips felt on the lyrium scarred into his skin. That had been futile, and after Anders had wedged himself in the space that should have been Fenris's, he had sworn to stay by Hawke's side, to protect him, even if he'd given up the right to do so.

He had failed even in that, the voice in the back of his head that sounded like Danarius said. The blood seeping through Hawke's armour ran through his fingers, no matter how hard he tried to press on the wound.

~~

Anders had felt sick ever since he'd destroyed the Chantry.

Justice had convinced him it was right. It was the way to free the mages, and that was worth more than the love and friendship of the man Anders had called "his one bright light". Worth more than the home he was trying to save for the both of them.

But the look on Hawke's face – it had been worse than the screams of the mages and templars killing each other in the streets. He'd prayed a coward's prayer that Hawke would kill him, then. But even filled with rage and disgust, Hawke was too kind, still too caring, to plunge the knife into his back.

And now Hawke's blood was on his hands too.

~~

There would be time to kill the mage later, Fenris reminded himself.

Distantly, he was aware of Varric and the others taking charge of their long-term situation. Isabela and Merrill would meet Aveline and Donnic, and whomever else they could muster, at the Kirkwall docks to free the Siren's Call Two before the Templar reinforcements arrived. Varric would back them up to the city, then make sure the others could meet the rendezvous to the east.

A rendezvous Hawke would not make if Anders didn't do something quickly.

Fenris spat out a string of cursing in arcanum before switching to more common Thedan: "Stop staring at your blighted hands and heal him!"

Anders raised his head, prepared to argue that dying was the best recourse for any of them at that point. He was prepared for Fenris's hate and rage- but he was not prepared for the anguish in the elf's face.

The mage only nodded then, and placed his hands on Hawke's chest as Fenris tore the blood-stained armour away.

~~

He had only felt the sort of feedback against his powers once before and the sickness that had been churning in Anders' guts crested.

"Lyrium." He panted, barely able to turn away quickly enough to retch. "The idol."

"What?" Fenris ran his fingers along the gash in Hawke's chest, angry and red. It was so small, compared to some of the others. There was the jagged, twisting scar, as long as Fenris's forearm, where the Arishok had run Hawke through. One the size of Merrill's hand where a giant poisonous spider had taken a chunk of flesh and another, waxy against too-pale skin, where dragonfire had burned through his armour at the Bone Pit. A lifetime's worth of adventures told on the surface of his skin. It wasn't fair that something so tiny might be the one that killed him.

"Did Meredith get him during the battle?" Anders wiped his mouth on his sleeve and held his hands over the wound. "there's a shard.. I can feel it, lodged under his ribs. " The evil magic in every shred of the shard pushed back against him. "It's near his heart."

Varric spat an oath behind them. "It must've chipped off her sword. I'm sure she tagged him at least once."

"I can pull it out." Fenris said then, full of dread.

~~

"What, the way you rip the hearts out of your enemies?" Anders tried to sound contemptuous, but only succeeded in a sad, pleading tone. "Will that even work?"

"Yes. I don't know. Maybe." Fenris flexed his hand. It hovered close to Anders', near the ugly wound. "Can you guide me? Make sure I'm in the right place, so I don't hurt him worse?"

The mage nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, I can."

~~

Fenris closed one hand on Hawke's shoulder, unsure of who it was meant to comfort. He saw Anders do the same thing and nodded.

"Let us do this, then." He said softly. The mage closed his hand over Fenris's and the faint blue-green light of healing magic mingled with the white-blue of the lyrium tattoos burning underneath the elf's skin.

Following the path of Ander's power, he pushed his fingers into Hawke's flesh. Semi-conscious, Hawke stirred, spasming against the fresh pain. "Hold him fast." Anders rasped, and they held him down as Fenris took hold of the shard.

The evil in it pushed back against him, tried squirming away from his hand, and Fenris struggled to keep ahold of it.

"You can do this, elf." Anders said fiercely, eyes never leaving the wound. "You're so good at what you do with this lyrium ghost thing of yours, you can do this."

"Shut up, mage." Fenris hissed, forcing the lyrium shard to phase in tune with his hand. "Shut up, I don't need you to tell me."

He could feel Anders' magic stitching up the wound, eating away at the poison, with every inch he pulled the shard free. One final tug, Hawke arching upwards beneath their hands in an agonized parody of passion, and the shard came free. Fenris tossed it away with an oath as the mage burned away the last of the corruption.

Both their hands came to rest over the wound, trembling. Beneath them, Hawke's breathing eased, and neither expected when his hand came to twine with them both.

~~  
Varric looked over his shoulder as he wiped the lyrium dust off of Bianca's stock. Both Anders and Fenris had slumped against Hawke exhausted, and the redhead, still weak, held them close.

The dwarf smiled, just a little bit.

A good romantic triangle tale always had a twist.


End file.
